


A Tale of Wands, Swords, and Magic

by thewhisperingwillowtree



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Dragons, Drama, F/M, Fantasy, Game of Thrones-esque, Incest, Infidelity, M/M, Male Slash, Mystery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Suspense, Tragedy, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhisperingwillowtree/pseuds/thewhisperingwillowtree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if the setting of Harry Potter was in a whole different world? HP/GoT Crossover. A bit of a dystopic HP in the GoT setting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Letter of Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to partake in my first writing challege and crossover, one issued by joe63129. It's his fourth prompt in the HP ASOIAF categoryon fanficton. This story will be a bit of a writing exercise for me more than anything, meant to push and expand the boundaries of my writing. None of these characters are exactly like the one in Harry Potter or Game of Thrones. Some of them changed because they have different family members, and are placed in different circumstances than before. They also have some of the traits of their last names. Some are older and some are younger. Some characters that I didn't know much about became like their parallel character in GoT, so none of these are exact replicas of character's and this is a very AU story. If any of this is not to your taste than it is best that you not read this. On a side note, I wonder how long it will take for people to figure out which HP character fulfills the GoT character haha
> 
> Rules:
> 
> \- The great families are powerful and ancient wizard families across the world and their castles are school's run by the families
> 
> \- Dumbledore calls a meeting to tell them about Voldemort and how he is gathering followers for a war
> 
> \- Harry meets the head of many of the families at this meeting. Some believe Dumbledore and some do not. In order to get them on board they will want something that will benefit them.
> 
> \- One family demands a marriage contract with their oldest daughter. After the contract is agreed upon Harry's betroth attends his school and get to know each other before getting married. Mess with the ages to make them similar.
> 
> \- There is preferably something to battle against after the first war, as if it was only a prelude.
> 
> Disclaimer: The base characters and much of the created world belongs to JKR and GRRM.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the Lord of Winterfell and Dragonstone.

Chapter 1: The Letter of Beginnings

* * *

The School of Winterfell, The North

* * *

Sirius Stark frowned down at the nondescript scroll in his hand. It wasn't the first time he had seen this name, and based on the fact that he had seen it every year for the past five years it undoubtedly would not be his last.

For the past five years this person had petitioned to get into The School of Wintefell. His family had run this school for generation upon generation, beginning with the first Stark: Godric the Builder.

Sirius could not understand the purpose of apply to be a student here. She was a Squib. The School of Winterfell had nothing to teach her.

He could not help the memories. Seeing this name brought him back sixteen years. His first son had been a Squib. Sirius had tried to hide it from the world. Squibs had been persecuted for all of time, their family names stripped and then bodily thrown out in the cold. If Sirius had not sent the boy past The Wall the nobles would have killed him. Sirius had not seen his first son since. His wife Emmeline never even mentioned him in passing.

As if he was never there.

It was how all the families treated Squibs. It was not their thinking that was wrong, it was his. Sirius had never been the most conventional thinker. His older brother Orion had often commented on it when he had been living.

Curiosity made Sirius want to admit the Squib. Perhaps she could help clean the school. It would be a good excuse as any.

And maybe she would know something about his lost son.

"Father!" One of his younger boys ran over to him, gripping onto his leg tightly. "Uncle Regulus is here! He's finally here! He brought books from the Wall!"

Sirius chuckled, ruffling Teddy's hair affectionately. "What kind of books?"

"Everything!" Teddy shouted, excitement clear by the brightness in his eyes. "Books that aren't even around anymore. There's even one on dragon's!"

"Then we'll have to sit down and read them all," Sirius suggest with a similar twinkle in his eyes. Sirius and Teddy nearly had the same shade of grey, Teddy's being a bit darker than his own. But that was where the similarities ended. Where Sirius had hair of midnight black, Teddy's was a medium brown. Sirius had high cheek bones, and Teddy's were quite average. The overall look was very much lackluster to his father's, who constantly had an air of casual elegance to him that people had no hope of copying.

"Cedric said last time Uncle Regulus came he promised to duel him to see how much Cedric improved! I can't miss it!"

Teddy squirmed out of his father's embrace, racing in the direction of the courtyard. Before he could disappear out of sight Sirius called out, "Ted?" The overly zealous boy skidded to a wobbly stop, staring back at his father with thinly veiled curiosity. "Make sure not to climb your way down. Your mother will be sure to have a heart attack if she catches you."

Teddy's smiled mischievously, clearly set on doing the exact opposite of what his father said. Sirius let him be for the moment. At least he could tell his wife that he tried.

Emmeline was already high strung with Regulus and Bill back from Castle Black. Bill had left to train at the Auror school at a young age, unable to take her scorn anymore. Regulus had gone for The Wall when both Sirius and Regulus had been young, shortly after the death of their sister and brother. It had been two years since Sirius had seen Bill. He would be almost a man now, filled with experience from protecting the realm. With Regulus there to mentor him Sirius had not worried. Auror training could be difficult, and protecting six schools tough, but Bill had it in him. Sirius believed in him.

His mind drifted to the three schools that did not partake in the services offered by the Aurors. As long as each school could help supply men for Auror training, the Auror's would continue to be there to protect them from what was outside of their walls. If they did not place such demands they would have less than half the working force they did now.

Targaryen was one of the school's that did not partake in the deal any longer. They were a shadow of their former selves, barely staying adrift. It would take a miracle for them to come back from what they had become. The Martells were too proud to accept help, and were isolated in the desert so did not need to fear to much about being attacked. Supervising the Greyjoys was a chance not even the Auror's would take. All of them were infected. The simplest of scratches had the ability to transform them into a beast of the night, as uncontrollable as a hellion.

The last place, which Sirius was unsure if they even had a school, was the Squib's. They lived beyond The Wall. The Auror's kept them in their banished, frozen wasteland. It was where Sirius's first son stayed. Sirius wondered if he was still alive, how he had turned out. Was he a good man? Was he anything like his Stark heritage?

Sirius feared he would never know, and perhaps it was better that way.

His one saving grace was that the Tullys, Emmeline's side of the family, had discovered they had a non-magical boy about the same time. They sent them together, and hopefully they stayed that way. Brothers. Like Sirius and James and the others had once been.

But it was best not to think on that subject. The past was buried in the past for a reason.

"Ginny! Stop being so rude!" Katie screeched, her pretty face turning a bright shade of red. "Apologize to Alicia!"

Ginny snarled, glaring at her older sister. "If Alicia wasn't so mean to Hermione I wouldn't say she looked like a hippogriff!"

Katie straightened her back and leveled a cool expression at her younger sister. "Hermione is a bastard. Alicia can say whatever she likes about her." Sirius's brows rose, and he knew he had Emmeline to thank for Katie having such a deep rooted hate for bastards. Sometimes Sirius thought Bill would have been better off in the hands of another family, someone will less animosity towards him.

But Bill was family. Even if the boy had suffered Sirius still felt overall it was the best option.

Sirius grabbed Ginny before she could lunge at her sister, her fingers curled and ready to dig into the soft skin of Katie's red tinged, porcelain face.

"Let me go! I want to beat her stupid face!" Ginny screeched, attempting to reach for her.

"You will do no such thing," Sirius answered firmly.

The voice behind the hands holding her gave Ginny pause. "Father?"

"You're such an animal Ginny," Katie hissed with disgust, folding her arms across her chest with disapproval.

"I'll show you an animal!" Ginny attempted to grab at her sister again, but Sirius remained firm.

"I'd hate to punish you both with both Regulus and Bill visiting," Sirius uttered in a mild tone, hoping it would have the effect he was aiming for on them.

Both stopped what they were doing, turning to him hopefully.

"Let me go!" Ginny said immediately, completely forgetting about her attempted attack on Katie. "I have to go down to see them!"

Sirius held Ginny back firmly until Katie disappeared from sight. He turned Ginny around to stare heavily into her eyes. "You are to be on your best behavior. Do you understand me?"

Ginny had a moment of defiance, a snarl formed on her lips and eyes mutinous, but sighed and reluctantly agreed. Sirius would have to head down to greet his guests too, but first to wrap up his paperwork.

He entered his office, hurrying to scribe an answer to the squib's fifth petition. When he finished he dipped his seal in the darkened, grey wax, pulling away once he was sure it would not fold into the creases because of the heat. The direwolf stared back at him, proud and regal. It was the symbol of their school, and had been since its creation almost eight thousand years ago. Satisfied, he began the trek down to the courtyard.

All of his family were in the courtyard once he made his way down there. Emmeline was fluttering back and forth, completely ignoring the bane of her existence Bill Snow. He appeared to prefer it that way, hovering in the shadows and making sure to keep away from her at all costs.

"How has the wall been treating you William?" Sirius asked, giving him a quick hug before turning to watch the cacophony of his family. At least the girls were getting along at the moment, too distracted by Regulus and his story telling. Cedric, his oldest recognized trueborn boy, sat on the fence next to Regulus grinning. Cedric was charismatic already at fifteen, something that would help him when the day came to take his inheritance from his father and run this school.

"Well," Bill answered softly. "It's colder than I thought it would be."

Sirius chuckled. "You're about done training, aren't you?"

"Just about," Bill agreed.

"Any of those fairy tales true?" Sirius joked, nudging the boy dressed in black beside him.

Bill's lips curved into a smile. "Just the ones about bloodthirsty Squibs. I've yet to see any giants or dragons beyond The Wall." The smile fell from his face, the corners of his eyes tense. "The Squibs are becoming crafty. They're creating things to fight the Auror's back with. So far we've managed to hold them at bay."

Sirius frowned, his lips in a tight, unpleased line. "Will more men help?"

Bill stared at his father, taking in the identical color of their eyes thoughtfully. "This is for you."

A scroll was shoved unceremoniously into the palm of Sirius's hand. He gripped it tightly, staring in confusion at the simply tied ribbon keeping it together. Official letters were always sealed. It made no sense that this one was not unless it was a threat or they wished to be unanimous. Or perhaps it was another petition to join the school from a different squib.

"It's from one of the Squib's, a girl named Lavendar with a bow the color of bone." He was close.

"A bow?"

"One of the new weapons that Squibs have created to fight against us. It's long-range, unlike anything I've ever seen."

Sirius let out a deep sigh, his stomach unsettled. This did not bode well. The School of Winterfell had always been the first defense if The Wall were to ever fall. Most the people in this school were children. The Reeds, Karstarks, Umbers, Pooles, and so many more had trusted him with their children. He could not let them down.

"She said it was from their leader. A man she called Lord Rayder."

Sirius's brows furrowed in confusion. Only the head of a school was called a Lord. If this man had saddled himself with such a title as Lord given to him by his people… this could not be good. The last war had only ended seven years ago. Some of the families still had not recuperated from it.

"She said this was specifically for you. Somehow she knew you were my father, despite having different last names." If they knew what Starks looked like it was not very surprising. Bill had both grey eyes and black hair, along with the handsomeness of his father. The biggest difference they had was the slightly darker skin tone which he had year round. His similar looks almost made him blend in with Sirius's trueborn children, something that pained Emmeline. "She also mentioned the other Lords would be getting a letter too."

Sirius released the undyed ribbon from its knot easily, unfurrowing the letter with a slight scowl. His face revealed nothing as he read, and when he finished he folded the letter neatly and placed it in one of his spare pockets. He watched as his family laughed happily in the summer heat, careless and unhindered by the world that plagued them. Teddy had remained glued to Regulus's side, and his oldest daughter Katie had found her best friend Alicia Poole and was giggling about something or the other. By the way they kept glancing at the boys that were practicing their dueling Sirius could deduce what it was about. Ginny and her friend Hermione were sitting carelessly on the ground, uncaring of the dirt that lingered on the folds of their skirts. His two youngest, Teddy and Anthony, were smiling as they watched Regulus and Cedric interact.

"Winter is coming."

* * *

Dragonstone's School of Hexes and Spells, New Valeria

* * *

This castle had once been great.

Dragonstone's School of Hexes and Spells was once the best school in the world. Everyone wanted to get into this school. It was elusive, the top of its class. It held the best training.

But now its hallways sat empty.

There were only four students on its roster, and one teacher: Severus Baelish. Harry overheard a person call Severus, Littlefinger. The name had incensed the man beyond reason and Harry made sure to never call him that. Severus taught them everything they needed to survive. Spells and hexes, like their namesake. How to grow food, and even taught Harry how to gut a fish. It was one of the most accessible meats on Dragonstone. It was what they had been reduced to. What they had to do in order to survive.

Dragonstone had been created with magiks only the Targaryen's had. It stayed warm in the winter, and cool in the summer. No drafts permeated its walls even to this day. Those powers were long gone. There was no one alive to train the last scions of Targaryen. Severus could only teach the two what he knew and sometimes could read about, and he could do neither for elemental magiks.

If only his father had not taken to the Madness Disease. Severus's whispers filled Harry's head, tightening and coiling uncomfortably. They had called his father Grindelwald the Terrible, the Mad Lord of Dragonstone. He forced his sister to marry him, creating James, Luna, and Harry from this union. The world had tried to ignore his father because of the power and prestige the Targaryen school held. Incest was highly frowned upon, looked at with disgust and horror. They barely recognized the last of the Targaryens because of this.

Harry became the Lord of Dragonstone at five. He was twenty-one now, a man full grown. But he was still at the beck and call of other Lords. His legitimacy could be lost easily, and then the Targaryens would be no more. Their last name would be stripped away and their castle ripped from their fumbling and weary clutches.

Harry remembered some of that time of madness, but not much. He remembered how the students suddenly stopped flowing in and became a stifling trickle. The way his mother screamed each night, the sound echoing down the halls and into his barren room. He imagined what terrible things his father must be doing to his mother, what he was forcing her to do. He had not understood till many years later.

Harry could not find his voice back then. He had been cowed by the splendor of his father and the power he held in his iron fist. The day father burned one of his closest friends in a fit of rage, shouting with spittle flying from his mouth that the dragon had been awakened, marked the beginning of the end.

After the burning of the former Lord of Winterfell almost all of their students had fled the next day. There was no prestige training under the ramblings of a mad man.

It had brought a war to this country. His older brother James had rose to the occasion. He slayed their enemies in battle during the day, and played a haunting melody with his harp late into the night. James was what made the rest of them stay. He was charming, filled with magnetism and grace. Everyone had hope for the future because of him. James had even managed to convince the Starks to meet with him for a truce, to end the war of death that had been plaguing the lands.

But then he saw Lily Stark, the beauty of the North with midnight tresses, and the war was over for the Targaryens.

James fell for her and all reason left his mind. All he wanted was her. He forgot about his family, about the madness his father had. He forgot what it would mean if he slighted the Starks even further and stole their only daughter away in the night.

James had once been friends with Sirius Stark. Best friends if Severus's whispers were correct. But that all ended once he took Lord Sirius's sister. James Targaryen had been killed soon after Marvolo Baratheon had swung his magical Warhammer, a spell the Baratheon's coveted to themselves and their heir. The war ended that day. The disposing of a madman was easy after that.

His little sister Luna didn't know much of their family's past. Luna only knew their father and brother had been killed in a war. Pavarti and Padma filled her head with how great and noble their older brother was. They never spoke of his misdeeds, and Harry couldn't bring himself to either.

This school was more of a shelter than anything. Harry had open its doors as a refuge. That way it could be at least used for something. Harry and Luna, along with Severus, Pavarti and Padma, kept to the top of the castle. Their visitors stayed at the bottom. They were the Common Folk, as many Lords called them. Dragonstone was a desolate place. It had been built on a volcanic island. There was no place to sow crops. It was isolated, at least two-hundred and fifty kilometers from anything remotely green. It was the Targaryens that had made it great and nothing else.

But now that the Targaryens were all but gone….

Harry wanted to have hope. He wished that their school could one day gain its splendor back. They would have students that came from all places of the world and they would mold them so that people would speak of how respectable Dragonstone's School of Hexes and Spells was.

But for now, Harry could only think of survival.

Giggles filled the stale air, and Harry knew only three people that did such a thing in this desolate, decrepit place that it had become.

"Luna?"

A head of white blonde hair peaked around the corner, along with two heads of dark brown.

"Harry?" Her head cocked to the side, much like a bird would. A smudge of dirt was on her left cheek, her eyes wide. It was an expression his sister held much of the time, those wide eyes of hers.

"Aren't you supposed to be in lessons with Severus? You're going to be late."

Harry had already finished basic schooling; it was the learning to be a Lord part he was still attempting to excel in. The only people that appeared to enjoy him being a Lord was the Common Folk, and that was because Harry went out of his way to make sure they were safe and fed. The two things Harry could brag about was how happy his people were and the House-elves. The Targaryens had brought the elves here from the Olde Country, wherever that had been. The knowledge had been lost throughout the years, much like everything else. The only other house that had them were the Lannisters, and they had paid a hefty price for two they had bought eight years back. It was a deal even Harry could not deny.

The House-elves cleaned the castle as best as they could, making food out of seemingly nothing. They were very good at making their rations stretch, especially with Common Folk coming to Dragonstone in hoards every time the monthly ship came in.

Without the House-elves Harry was not even sure they would have managed to stay afloat. Once loyalty was established with a house and an elf that family could do no wrong. Harry made certain to treat his House-elves well, because he knew where they would be without them.

"Oh, yes. I suppose I am," Luna answered blandly. One of the girls, Pavarti, giggled. When his eyes met her's Pavarti's cheeks flushed heavily, her gaze demurely falling to the floor.

"You certainly are, Miss Targaryen." The familiar tone of Severus Baelish wafted through the air, dry and flat. He had a penchant for the monotone. "Sometimes I cannot recall why I remain here among recalcitrant students when half of the great schools have asked me to join their faculty."

Because Severus was loyal. Because he had loved their mother and now Harry and Luna was all that was left of her. Harry had inherited her dark hair, but had his father's green eyes. Luna was the opposite, getting their mother's hair and father's eyes. The Targaryens were known for their emerald green eyes. No one in the world held that particular shade but them.

Kreacher had told him all of this in his cracking, aged voice. He was the oldest of the House-elves, sure to pass away any day now. Yet Harry had been saying this for years and the elf still remained. Kreacher told him that Severus had loved his mother since they were children, and that he had worshipped the ground she walked on. There was nothing Severus could do against his Lord when he began to hurt her, not without committing treason and losing his life in the process.

Sometimes Severus didn't seem to know whether to hate or adore the two Targaryen children. He appeared to do both equally. He was kinder to Luna. Kreacher thought it was because she acted similar to Harry's mother had before his father had lost his wits. When she had been content with life and unafraid of what it held for her.

Gellert Targaryen had always been quick to anger. But that madness had pushed him over the ledge and it was no longer in sight for the crazed Targaryen. Harry's mother had once been happy, carefree. Harry could only remember how she cowered from his father, the tears that streaked her face when she came down for breakfast every morning.

Luna was like what their mother was before, clueless to how cruel the world could be. Harry would do everything he could to keep her that way. Obliviously happy. Innocent. Naive.

Some of the lesser families were already asking for her hand. They wanted what was left of the Targaryens, their exotic features and magnetism. Harry could keep them at bay, but if any of the Lords asked...

Harry wasn't certain if he would be allowed the privilege to say no.

A loud pop filled the air. House-elves had their own brand of magic, much like the Targaryens. For all appearances they could do much of what a normal wizard could do, but without a wand. "Master! Oh, master! You must look! A letter has come! It sure has!" Dobby screeched in excitement, tripping over his own feet in his haste to make it to Harry.

Harry leaned down, ignoring his company to take the letter out of Dobby's hands. "Thank you," Harry murmured kindly with a smile.

Dobby's ears twitched proudly. "Dobby does what he can to keep Master and Mistress happy!"

"You certainly do," Harry agreed, his brows frowning when he saw the seal. The wax was black, with the shape of a crow in it. All of the Lords used owls to send messages. Only the Night's Watch kept to the ancient practice of using crows. It was why many people called Auror's themselves Crows, that and the black clothing they wore. Harry was not certain why they would try to contact him. Harry had no men to give, no riches to donate. Harry had always been worthless in the eyes of Marcus Thorne, the current Lord Commander of the Auror's. The man had always made that poignantly clear.

His frown turned to confusion when he saw who had signed off on it. Harry knew his great-grandfather was an Auror, but he had never heard anything from him. When one became an Auror they swore off all ties to their family, giving their lives to defending the helpless and needy. As the man had not once attempted to reach out to him Harry thought he felt the same way.

But by reading the letter worry was evident in its tone. Harry was not sure if he trusted this estranged grandfather of his. He appeared earnest, but it would not be the first time someone had tried to deceive Harry. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I decided to revamp this entire story and begin again from scratch. Hopefully everyone finds this to be a higher quality. I still am interested in seeing if the people who read both ASOIAF and HP are able to figure out who is who.


	2. Of Revenge and Savagery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the Martells and the Greyjoys.

Chapter 2: Of Revenge and Savagery

* * *

 

Sunspear's School of Battlemagic, Dorne

* * *

 

The Martells were filled with passion.

It had run through their blood since the beginning of time. Back when the Targaryens had their dragons and old magicks that made the world quake in their shadows. Before the Lannisters had gained their wealth and valor, when they had been only a miniscule school in the middle of nowhere.

Foreigners said the desert was what stirred up that emotion, and perhaps Viktor could partly agree with the assessment. Back when Sunspear hadn't been a school, only a blurb in the middle of a dry wasteland, people had to band together to survive. That willingness, the ability to live for their people as a whole and not just for themselves and their family, was what made them flourish.

Now Sunspear was a place to be reckoned with, known for their excellent battle magic and succulent wine. The beautiful women were a plus. Sunspear's women were known throughout all the schools, beautiful and seductive, their only competition being the Tyrells. The heat had their women bearing more than those petty, foreign men could stand. They tutted and fretted, sure, but their eyes always remained glued on the curvature of their design.

Viktor stood at his window overlooking the gardens. Many of the children enjoyed playing there. Fountains were available to help cool them off, and bushes to cover under during their numerous games. Some days he had to sit down in his chair to watch, the gout paining him too much to stand. The healers could make most of the pain and malformations disappear, but not everything. Today was a good day, no pain plaguing his joints or appendages and distracting him from his day to day tasks.

Astoria, his younger brother's love, sat with one of his nieces in the gardens. His youngest niece was all of six and beginning to walk in her older sister's footsteps. People called them the Sand Snakes, lethal and patient when it came to the art of revenge and savagery. The oldest, Petrova, was blunt and stocky. Built more like her father than the rest of them, and one of the best duelers he had ever seen despite her years.

Then there was beautiful Leanne, all of eleven and frightfully cunning. She would stab you in the back all the while smiling sweetly at you. Even her own mother could not always tell a lie when she gave it. Leanne had an obsession with poisons that exasperated her mother to no end and she was the only child with the light skin of her mother.

Kellah was their little scholar. She was the one that asked all the questions and searched for the answers. She was often out with the Common Folk, playing that silly game she had created that amused her so much. The youngest one, little Circe, had a love for horse riding and transfiguration. With it Circe was able to hide in plain sight, and she used that to her advantage as often as she could.

He had never expected anything like this when his younger brother Blaise announced he had taken a foreign woman as a lover. The girl he had brought back, Astoria, was quiet and withdrawn. But it was clear how much she loved Blaise. With his dark looks and cunning charms he had swept her off her feet. Astoria had been from the family of one of the great schools. She had chosen to take a chance and become lovers with Blaise. Then when they fell in love the only thing that had held her back was the niggling worry that her family would not approve.

They hadn't. The close-minded fools abhorred Sunspear's culture. They would rather lose their gem than accommodate her.

Now Astoria was a different person. Her delicate skin had tanned in the constant heat, and she had created strong and will some daughters. Viktor had not seen it at first but Blaise had chosen well.

Many of the great schools did not think a woman could rule, but one day Viktor's oldest, Angelina, would show them all. She was to lead their next generation and Viktor could only look at her with pride. Angelina never held back her opinion, and was quick to point out whatever injustices she encountered. She was known as one of the top students of Sunspear. Not many were willing to cross her. She already had countless men vying to be her lover, hopeful to one day become her husband. But Angelina was methodical and would accept nothing less than perfection.

Viktor had a son of course, Dean. But he did not appear to have any interest in ruling a school. He was more absorbed in flirting with beautiful women, particularly the fostered Merope Baratheon, and joking with his handful of close friends. So long as Angelina still wished to rule Sunspear in Dean's stead Viktor would let him play.

Viktor was confident in Angelina's ruling abilities, but worried none-the-less. Angelina's heart still boiled at the travesty committed against them nearly twelve years back. Viktor and Blaise once had a sister, stunning in every way. She had babied Blaise as a child, and he adored her for it.

The Lannisters had wanted their sweet sister's hand. For her to one day become the Lady of Casterly Rock alongside her husband. She had been willing to go along with it, requesting only a few months on her own before being sent off. Blaise and Viktor had been reluctant, but their father had brushed them off and continued with the deal.

At first she appeared fine but as time went on her letters because more desperate, wistful of one day coming back to visit Sunspear. She became pregnant, and this somehow made her even more morose. She had always wished for children, adored them. Viktor and Blaise could not understand why she suddenly felt this way.

Her last letters were bitter, the words spun with some secret none of them could decipher. Then the last letter came, announcing her death and that of their young nephew. At first the Lannisters had tried to pass it off as an accident. But the Martells had connections. Blaise had friends all across the world, and what he heard had almost started a war.

They sent them the bodies of their sister and nephew. Neither Viktor nor Blaise could mask the horror on their faces upon seeing them. Their loving sister, who had nursed Blaise back to health when he was young and been Viktor's first confident, had been brutally murdered. Her skull crushed and scratches lacerating her body. The healer told them there had been signs of a rape. Their nephew was not much better off, one side of his face unable to even be made out in the carnage. Viktor never got to see his nephew whole. That image in his mind would always be conjured up when thinking upon him.

Abrahax Lannister had sent them the head of Crabbe Clegane, along with the promise that they would betroth and foster his first granddaughter to them. Lucius told them it was his vassals fault and that Crabbe had lost control for reasons Lucius did not understand. But the Martells had known otherwise. Crabbe may have been the one to do the act, but it had been at Abrahax's order.

A war would be costly. Lannisters had unending gold, a mine of their own. They were rich beyond reason. All the Martells had was anger and passion, dotted with a healthy amount of hatred. They could not even say they had more people than the Lannisters.

Five years back, when dissent with the Lannisters was particularly high, Merope Baratheon was delivered to them. All of nine and filled with stories of the terrible Martells and what they would do to her upon arrival.

Time had remedied that. About a year ago Merope and Dean had begun to have feelings for each other. Merope knew by then the Martells held no ill will towards the girl. The Martells did not make the children of murderers pay. No, they made the killers pay for their sins themselves.

So the Martells bid their time. One day they would extract their revenge. One day the head of Abrahax Lannister would be served to him on a golden platter filled with blood red roses and drizzled with the poisonous venom of vengeance.

* * *

 

Pikes School of Wizardry, The Iron Islands

* * *

 

The men stunk of piss and Firewhiskey.

Marietta rolled the salt shaker back and forth utterly bored, watching as they made fools of themselves like always. The women were just as bad, too busy whoring themselves to notice the men's lack of wit.

Her eyes trained on her father, Fenrir Greyjoy. He had long, greying hair nearly down to his elbows and his head was beginning to bald. It didn't matter to these women that he had lost his good looks long ago. All they cared about was the power he held.

Lord of Pyke. Alpha to all werewolves. That was all they saw.

But Marietta saw different, she could tell Remus did too. He was her brother of sorts, in werewolf tradition. The last war on Pyke had been in the name of Fenrir, who had wanted to rise above all the other Lords. He wanted their women. He wanted their children and first born's. He wanted and wanted and wanted until there was barely anything left of the wolves, then he meekly hid tail and headed back to Pyke.

None of the other werewolves seemed to remember that part, how the great and mighty Lord Fenrir Greyjoy had run away like a slithering coward. They only remembered that Fenrir Grejoy, first of his name, had brought them momentary glory. They had been allowed to do as their instincts bid them. To kill. To gut. To bleed. To soil.

None of them cared they had lost in the end, because for a moment they had been able to be themselves. That was more than any alpha before had ever gifted them with.

They came back with less than they had, but with new blood. Remus was one of the new one's. He had once been a father and husband, had lands of his own to take care of. He told her years ago in a drunken stupor that his family thought he was dead and it was best that way. He didn't want them to know what he had become.

A monster.

Marietta may be Fenrir's trueborn but she would never hold Pyke for her own. She was a female, only good for breeding in her father's opinion. Pyke's School of Wizardry it was called. Marietta had never been invited. How she hated the fact that she was born with breasts instead of a cock between her legs. She could be as good as the men, she knew she could be. She only needed training.

But she would never get that here, nor at any of the other ruling schools. Not with her being a werewolf.

If Fenrir had his way it would be Remus that inherited it all. When Remus wasn't drowning himself in a tank of sorrows he was a strong wizard and an excellent werewolf. His instincts were the envy of wolves all over Pyke.

Too bad Remus didn't want them.

He didn't tell them that, he told her. At first he had respected Marietta, something she had never experienced before. He said it was his way, how it was done where he was from. But as the years passed Remus became accustomed to the culture. Now he didn't treat her much different than anyone else. He treated her like a girl.

Like someone who didn't have a voice, who was too dumb and mute to repeat the things she heard.

Well, she had a voice. One day she would show them all. Marietta would be the greatest witch there ever was. She would inherit Pyke and make it Pykes School of Witches and Wizardry. She would be worshipped like her father and have a harem of her own. They wouldn't care about her looks then.

Marietta was no beauty. Bright, angry pimples covered her cheeks, and on occasion her forehead. Her strawberry blonde hair was limp and lifeless, just like the walls surrounding her. Her father had been dark haired, so she must have gotten the color from her nameless mother. She had probably been one of the whores frequenting this very table fourteen years ago. All her father had ever said of her mother was that she had an amazing pair of tits.

Marietta hadn't even inherited that.

She sighed, leaning her chin on her hand. Perhaps she should stop dreaming. None of that was possible, not without a teacher. Remus would be the next Lord, and Marietta a whore for some big, fat wolf with more balls than brain. It was the way of things, the natural order for her lot.

Her father thumped the table loudly, making the rowdy crowd quiet to listen to their liege. "Brothers," he began, standing up. "Seven years ago we left for glory, to douse our lips with the sweet, tantalizing taste of blood for the first time. To be like we were meant to be!"

Whistles and cat calls resounded against the stone walls harshly. Marietta winced, covering her ears to attempt to block out some of the noise.

"I stand before you bearing good news," he said solemnly, taking in all of their faces. "We have been promised that again!" A toothy smile filled with dagger-like teeth flitted across his face. The men went up in an uproar, screeches and howls calling into the evening. "The tides are changing! It's time for Pyke's School of Wizardry to be the best of its kind!" Cries of agreeance filled the air. Fenrir raised his cup, Firewhiskey sloshing down his arm. "It's time for people to beg the honor of being a werewolf, not to fear it!"

By now the place was in an uproar. Men falling over themselves in their excitement. Either that or their drunkenness. Some men were even fucking their women, biting down on their tender flesh and leaving blood in its trace. There was no controlling this crowd. Not with the full moon so close and the exciting words of their Lord dribbling thickly into their ears.

Fenrir banged on the table again, waiting patiently for the men to calm. Once it was at a more manageable volume he continued. "I promise you all this and more. If you know anything about me you know that I am not a patient man, but I will be for this." His tone was soft. Marietta had to strain to make out his words. "For my second announcement," he said in his natural voice. "I would like you all to congratulate my children, Remus and Marietta."

A few of the men clapped, sending confused looks their way. Marietta slouched down in her chair, uncomfortable with the attention. She had no clue what this was about, and based on the look on Remus's face he didn't either.

"By the next year Remus and Marietta will be making the next generation of Greyjoys! Let us drink to this joyful news!"

Marietta froze, her eyes widening and her breath stuck in her throat. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest, tha-thump, tha-thump; and feel the way her muscles clenched tightly inside her.

She thought she had more time than that.

Remus appeared horrified from across the room, stumbling drunkenly out of the room in a daze. Remus was twenty-three years her senior. This was something she had never thought of. The two of them weren't actually related, but she didn't think that would make marriage okay. Marietta may only be a woman, but she had more of her life to give than that. She couldn't just accept this lying on her back, but she couldn't go against her father either.

That left her only one choice.

Her mind schemed as it planned, a deadly smirk growing across her face. She would get out of this if it was the last thing she did. This place may be called Pyke's School of Wizardry, but people didn't nickname it Monstrous Pyke for nothing.


	3. The Wealthy and the Destitute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the Tyrells and the Squibs.

Chapter 3: The Wealthy and the Destitute

* * *

 

Highgarden's School of Wandless Magic, The Reach

* * *

 

Appoline Tyrell glared down from her terrace at her grandson who was once more making a fool of himself. It was a shame he was just about all that was left on the male side of the family, almost all of the surviving Tyrells being females.

Mothers did what they could to keep their sons from the graves, but sometimes it was not enough. Her son had died in the last war, a fat thing that said the most idiotic of things. She had to hush him at the worse of moments. Veela's were beautiful creatures, but her son had even managed to ruin that for himself. By the end of his life no woman would call him attractive, not even his own wife.

"Left! Right! Let us go inside. I fear ze summer heat will make me swoon," Appoline announced primly.

Left and Right were two tall, muscular, twin boys that had trained at The School of Winterfell. Those Starks cared about honor too much for Appoline to worry about them betraying her. The Starks instilled the value in every student that frequented their doors. It didn't hurt that they were attractive, young men for her eyes to feast upon. Too bad she could never tell them apart.

"Mother!" Daphne murmured in a scandalized tone. "They do 'ave names!"

"Hush, Daphne," the Queen of Thorns brushed off, a moniker she had earned throughout the years. "Don't take zat tone wiz me. And don't call me mère. If I'd given birth to you, I'm sure I'd remember. I'm only to blame for your 'usband, the former Lord Oaf of 'ighgarden's School of Wandless Magic."

Officially Gilderoy was the Lord of Highgarden, but everyone knew Appoline was the one truly in power. At seventy-nine years of age she still had some beauty left to her, which she used to her advantage whenever she could.

More than once throughout the years Appoline had brought up changing the name of their school, particularly the wandless magic part. Only Veelas could do that bit of sorcery, and the only Veelas were in Highgarden so of course they would attend this school. If the Tyrells ever wanted to gain any power or prestige a different name was in order to attract more students. But no one would listen to the ramblings of an old, senile woman. Appoline could only press so far. The name had stood since the creation of Highgarden nearly four thousand years ago, and men dearly loved their tatty traditions.

Her cane made shallow echoes with every step she took. Truthfully, she didn't need it. But people saw what they wanted. No one would ever expect anything from a grey haired woman with a forgetful mind that walked with a cane and a forgery of a limp. She liked to say the weather made it painful.

Three of her grandchildren, all female, were sitting around a table sewing as she passed. One of them smiled brightly upon seeing her.

"Grandmère, what do you tink of zis?"

The girl, her was name something like Dominique. Or was it Victoire? Appoline couldn't bring herself to keep track of them all. She was a senile woman, after all. Girl handed Appoline the beginnings of a golden rose, the background a dark green. The school words, 'Growing Stronger' were emblazoned upon it. Appoline handed it back, walking down the hall as she responded. "I eat from plates stamped wiz roses, I sleep in sheets embroidered wiz roses, I 'ave a golden rose painted on my chamber pot- as if zat makes it smell any better. Roses are boring, dear."

She could hear the girl sigh tiredly. Appoline could imagine her moping back to her table. Out of all her grandchildren Fleur was the most promising. Now that was a young woman that knew what she wanted and took it! She had learned from the best, her grandmother dearest.

If only Fleur had wanted someone with a little more power for a husband.

It was disappointing, really. For some reason Fleur had decided on having Roger Baratheon as a husband. He would never amount to much, just a family with a respectably sized home and connections to two Lords by blood. Marvolo Baratheon was the Lord of that particular family. His son Draco, the little shit that Appoline heard he was, would be its future Lord. Merlin help the living when that happened. May Marvolo Baratheon be blessed with eternal life; at the least another fifty years. Perhaps the boy would meet an early demise in that time.

Roger Baratheon wasn't even on the right side of the table, if you caught her drift. A sword swallower through and through. She was almost certain the boy was in some type of illicit affair with her grandson Gilderoy. How amusing it would be for it all to unfurrow. Appoline could only hope she was there when it happened.

Fleur was sitting at Appoline's table inside her room when she finally made it there, winded and disheveled. Appoline made sure to adjust herself in the standing mirror before sitting down.

"Grandmère." Fleur smiled prettily, her eyes filled with mischief. "You 'ave 'eard? Roger iz on 'is way to visit."

Appoline had heard as much. He was under the guise of visiting with his betrothed Fleur, but he would most definitely make a visit or two, maybe three, to the stables for that gallant grandson of hers.

"Splendid, my dear," Appoline intoned, drinking from her vase of wine with a nod.

Fleur bright expression stilled, her eyes taking her grandmother in before sulking. "You don't truly believe zat."

The slightest tilt of Appoline's lips showed her pleasure at Fleur catching that. Fleur was one of the few that could notice her veiled barbs. Most of the time Appoline made them obvious, but a meager few could read through the lines when she placed a hidden insult.

"No, I believe Roger Baratheon is an arrogant tart. But what is an old woman to do?" He was sure to bring that strange Nymphadora of Tarth with him too. Her hair was always some horrid, bright shade of blue or pink. It was unnatural. She would never get a husband like that.

Appoline glared at the smattering of fresh fruit on her table, then glanced at the server standing near the door a respectable distance away from her and Fleur.

"Boy, bring me some cheese."

The server regarded her warily. "The cheese will be served after ze cakes, my Lady."

People only called Appoline 'Lady' when they wanted something from her or were grievously nervous because they had made an error or accidental slight. It was obvious which category the server was in. Appoline had lost her title as Lady years ago, back when her fool of a husband had died in that war he decided to support. Daphne was technically the Lady of Highgarden, since Gilderoy was not married. Not that many people listened to technicalities around here.

"The cheese will be served when I want it to be served, and I want it to be served now."

The boy hurried to do as she instructed. Appoline scoffed, rolling her eyes disdainfully. Fleur was assessing her when she turned to look at her granddaughter.

"What? Out wiz it girl." She did not have time for riddles and conundrums, especially not from her.

Fleur's lips tightened before letting out a sigh. She was sitting comfortably in her chair, leaning back with one leg crossed over the other. "What do you feel about Louis becoming Lord of 'ighgarden instead of Gilderoy?"

Appoline's brows rose in surprise. It wasn't often that she was shocked, but if anyone could manage it, it was Fleur. "Louis is all of three." And the only other male Tyrell. At least the only one with a direct line to the school. It would be a fight between their numerous cousins for who would run Highgarden if both Gilderoy and Louis met an early demise. Louis was the son of her second son who had passed away to Dragon Pox two years back, making him the next in line if something were to happen to Gilderoy.

"He will grow."

Appoline leaned back in the chair, her face thoughtful. "I thought you and your brother were close."

"We are."

"Then what is with zis nonsense?" Had she found out about Gilderoy and Roger?

Fleur threw an apple up in the air, catching it before doing it again and taking a bite. The juice dripped down Fleur's chin and she wiped it away delicately with a cloth napkin. "I don't feel like Gilderoy will make a good Lord. I love him. Gods, I do. But sometimes he's so... idiotic. I swear he care more about what 'is hair looks like than if we'll survive ze winter."

Appoline couldn't agree with her more. Just earlier he was doing some strange thing with a wand holster and a saddle in front of his fellow students, a right class jester. A Lord couldn't act that way. No one would take him seriously.

"Let us watch zem grow, shall we? Sometimes men change." Some, but not all. "I still do not understand what you see in zat Roger boy," Appoline harrumphed, clearly displeased.

Fleur smirked, her eyes scheming. "You will know what I see one day, grandmère."

* * *

 

White Tree, North of The Wall

* * *

 

Today was a heart shattering, cold day.

Her teats were sure to freeze off any moment. Lavender shivered, glancing over to the group of Thenn's to her left. She didn't trust them any better than the average green boy trying to poke his way blindly inside of her womanly folds.

Their leader was earless, without a hair to be seen on his body. Well, perhaps he had eye lashes. She couldn't tell from this far away. His head was bald, with his brows shaved clean off. He had done that sacred scarification ritual they had, just like the other Thenn's surrounding him.

Normally Lavender wouldn't pay attention to such things. She didn't care for Thenn's. They were strange, barbaric. Their solution for survival in this frozen wasteland was to eat their enemies. Everyone was an enemy to a Thenn, sometimes even a Thenn.

But that Thenn Lavender had once known. He was the boy she had curled up against on the coldest of nights to stay warm. He was the one she had taught to shoot arrows when they were young. He was there when two giants had appeared at their camp, crumpling her insides with fear.

He was the one that had left her behind.

She hadn't known he had at the time. One day he was there and the next he was gone. She thought he had died. It was a normal enough occurrence. She just couldn't understand why he joined the Thenn's. He had hated them just as much as she did. It had been three years since Lavender had last seen Ron. When he had left he had been a skinny boy of thirteen, barely able to figure out his prick from a set of teats. She had to re-name him when he first came. His name had been Ronald back then.

"Your name is Ronald?"

He blinked up at her, scuffing his foot in the gritty, brown slush beneath their feet. "Yes?"

Lavender shook her head, chunks of curls following the motion. "Ronald is a Lords name. You'll never fit in here with a name like that." His shoulder's drooped, eyes falling to the ground. "Let's call you Ron. That's a fine, strong name."

He had agreed to it back then, had been excited about the name change. But now…

He was different.

He brought his gaze up from the fire, meticulously going over the crowd. Lavender blushed, dragging her gaze to the ground to avoid eye contact. She felt him staring at her longer than the others. She could tell he knew who she was even after three years.

She glanced at Moody, that crazy eye of his swiveling in its socket. Moody was a warg, a bit of old magic from long ago. It was something those wizards over The Wall didn't believe in. He could inhabit the mind of an animal if his own will was strong enough. Right now he had molded with the mind of a falcon, playing watcher of the camp. No one ever snuck up on Mad-eye Moody. One of his eyes may be blind, but it saw more than any of them would ever see.

"Oi! Lavender! Lord Rayder wants ta see ya," Charlie Giantsbane called out raucously. Charlie had once known Ron too. They had banded together when they first showed up together in their village, all of three and seven. Throughout the years they had replaced each other with new friends, ones with more similar interest.

"Tell him I'll come if his bloody fire is warmer than mine!" she growled. She was tired of him calling for her. It was always Lavender this, or Lavender that. She was her own damn woman and she would stay that bloody way.

Charlie's answering grin was animalistic, making her wary. "Oliver said you'd say that. He said to say it has to do with that pretty Crow of yours when you did."

She stood up immediately, walking over to him. "What does that mean?"

"It means he has a letter for you to deliver to those Auror's you love so much."

"I only love one," she bit out defiantly. "One day I'll make him mine. I'll steal him like Lords do their Ladies over the walls."

Charlie's head titled up in the air, his laugh only further adding fire to the flame that was Lavender.

"At least I don't fuck bears! It's the only way you'll ever feel a woman's heat," she hissed in anger.

His laughter cut off and he glared. "It were a bear pelt woman. A girl was on it, I yell ya!"

"Oh, is that why everyone says they saw a bear with the queerest of cubs walking about?" she smirked, a pompous brow raised in question.

"Arg, woman!" he snarled in frustration. "Those be spearwives tales!"

Lavender turned her back to him, heading over to Oliver Rayder's tent. "Whatever you say Bear Fucker!"

She could hear his answering howl of anger, making a grin spread across his lips. Sometimes he was so easy to wind up.

Oliver's tent was warmer than hers to Lavender's delight. She fanned her frozen fingers in the flickering heat, watching Oliver in the corner of the room going over battle plans with the Lord o' Bone's. He wasn't really a Lord. He had fastened that name himself. Who was going to argue with a man who wore bones for armor?

"Lavender," Oliver finally called out with a smile. "How wonderful it is to see you. Such a pretty thing you've become."

"Out with it already. We both know I'm no such thing," Lavender answered impatiently. Lavendar had crooked teeth, along with unruly brown locks that did as they pleased. She was too skinny and her eyes too far apart to be called pretty.

"Is that why the boys love you so much," Oliver teased.

"Just give me the damned letter or I'll be off again," Lavender warned. She could not argue that boys still somehow liked her. It was probably all the curls. They were a rare thing to be seen here.

"Very well, then."

He handed it over to her. Lavender snatched it from him, crumpling it in the process. It didn't matter. The Crow's would still read it.

She could see Grawp waving at her as she left. She brought her hand up to do the same. She may have been terrified of them at first, but as she had found out throughout the year's giants could be nice if they didn't think you were their enemy.

The Wall was just as enormous up close as it was far away, dangerous and impenetrable. She picked up the horn on the stump, blowing shortly twice, waiting, and then following it with a long blow. Bill Snow knew the call to come down and meet her. He was the Auror's ambassador of sorts for the Crow's in regards to the Squib's. From what she could tell he got the position because no one else wanted to do it.

This time there were two other Auror's with him. One was chubby and the other thin and reedy. They remained farther back as Bill stepped forward, getting off his formidable, white-grey hippogriff. She had never seen him without Buckbeak, nor had she ever seen anyone tame a hippogriff. Bill tried to explain it away as Buckbeak being his familiar, but Lavender had brushed him off. There was no such thing. The creature appeared to hate everyone but Bill, but put up with others when his master bid him to.

"Took ya long enough," Lavender teased.

Bills cheeks flushed slightly, his lips becoming a thin line. "You have something from Oliver Rayder?"

"I do." She sat down comfortably on the log, head tilted back to look at him. "What will you give me for it?"

Bill squirmed, glancing behind him uncomfortably. "Lavender please," Bill whispered.

"Lavender please, Lavender please," she teased. "Are you a man Bill Snow, or a boy?"

His eyes met hers defiantly. "I'm a man."

"Then prove it."

His eyes dropped, the anger dying off. "I can't prove it the way you want me to. I'm an Auror, sworn to my brotherhood. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall-"

"Oh shut up, Bill Snow. Your vows hold no interest to me." It wasn't like he was already bound to them. He was still training to become one, a waste of time if you asked her.

He became silent, watching her with those dark, grey eyes of his.

"William?" the chubby one called out uncertain. "Are you almost done?"

Lavender blinked, staring up at Bill in confusion. "Your name is William?"

"Yes." He appeared uncomfortable with the notion, as uncomfortable was she was.

Lavender frowned. William sounded like some Lords name, and Bill had assured her he was anything but. "Why do they call you Bill if your name is William?"

He squirmed, evidently uncomfortable. "It's a nickname for William."

Lavender stared at him incredulously. "A nickname would be Will, not Bill. You know nothing, Bill Snow." She handed over the letter, standing up to stretch and making sure her parka slid up to reveal her stomach. His eyes roamed down and became glued and Lavender grinned, lowering her arms to cover herself once more. The momentary cold was worth it. "I'll be seeing you soon enough. I'm off to my cold wasteland, and you to your warm castle with no women."

He didn't say a word as she walked away, not one. But Lavender was not worried. One day Bill Snow would be her man, and she his spearwife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Many of the amazing barbs by Appoline come from GRRM's original character Olenna Tyrell. I've always adored that woman.


	4. The Clashing of Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet many of the Lords.

Chapter 4: The Clashing of Lords

* * *

 

Dilapidated Ruins, The Crownlands

* * *

 

Percy had never been one for flying.

It was why he had insisted on riding horses. But by the time people were willing to listen to him it had been too late. Their party would have not arrived on time to the meeting between the great Lord's.

Percy was no Lord, his father was. But if everything well right he would be one day. His father, Amycus Frey, was Lord of the Twins. A set of jagged peaks that breached between two forests. There were dangerous creatures inside the woodlands, and his father took advantage of that. One galleon per person for a safe trip through the woods. The Common Folk had to pay if they had need to get to the other side, filling Lord Frey's pockets.

Percy thought the toll was a good idea, but not very practical. They had to turn away many a families because they could not afford it. Perhaps ten sickles per person? Yes, that sounded much more tolerable. It was seven sickles less than a galleon, and more people would be able to pay that amount. He wasn't sure if they would make more money from the change, but at least the common folk wouldn't find the Freys so intolerable.

But that was probably long off. Despite the fact that his father was eighty-seven he showed no signs of keeling over. Percy was sixty-one years old himself, his youngest child thirty-nine. Many of his siblings had already died off, six in number, and he wondered if he was next to join the worms and larvae in the browned grass surrounding the Twins.

He landed as soon as the castle was in walking distance. It appeared some of the great families had decided to sleep overnight, fore he passed a few tents on the way there. One a deep red in color. The Imp came staggering out, less of a drunkard that he usually was. Percy had only met the man once in truth, and it hadn't been a very good first impression. All he could do was drink and play with that whore of his, Rosmerta. Percy could recall him saying that name a few times.

"Greetings, Ser Percy. I was expecting your father to show," Filius called out, a nameless wizard standing to his side. The unknown man was on the short side, with eyes of brown and stringy hair.

If Filius was expecting his father to come that clearly revealed exactly how well the man knew Lord Amycus Frey. If Percy's father could push a Lordly duty onto one of his numerous children he would do it every chance he got.

"I'm afraid my father had a prior obligation he needed to attend," Percy answered diplomatically.

"It seems our fathers are in the same boats then," Filius supplied. Despite his answer he looked nowhere near convinced.

The rest of the walk to the castle was silent. Many centuries ago it had been a school. From what folk tales said it was one of the best. It was impressive, Percy would give it that. Craggy peaks rose from the mists, dark and daunting. A dilapidated gate circled the perimeter. He could tell that it had once been elegant and ornate, but time had worn and crumpled it.

The unknown wizard traveling with Filius Lannister whistled a tune, appearing completely at ease. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he glanced at their surroundings calmly, taking in the scenery more than anything.

"After you," Percy said congenially, holding the rusted fence open for them. When the way cleared Percy helped himself, glancing up at the words that embellished the overly large doors. The words 'Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' were above it in elegant cursive, if somewhat worn.

"They say magic still permeates these ruins." Filius paused, taking it in. "But then I was listening to the ramblings of a drunkard man so I'm not sure how true that bit of knowledge is."

Percy gave him a look of derision, budging past him to walk inside. The doors opened on their own accord, taking him aback. He hesitated, before marching all the way inside. Cobwebs littered every corner, the feces of small animals desecrated the ground. He made sure to avoid every pellet, his eyes drawn to the staircase before him.

"Decisions, decisions. If I were a Lord which way would I go?" Filius mused, rubbing his chin.

"Not up for sure," Nameless Man snorted. "The fat Lord's would find it too much of an inconvenience."

"You are certainly correct Mundungus," Filius announced after a moment of musing. "So will it be left or right? I love a good adventure."

Right then a cackling voice answered them. "If it's not an itty bitty Lord! I've never seen one like you!"

Filius cleared his throat. "I happen to not be a Lord."

They all stared unnerved at the miniscule, floating being near the ceiling.

"And what do you happen to be?" Mundungus asked confrontationally, placing his hand on his wand.

The floating creature screeched in laughter, floating upside down until his head was pointing towards the floor. It was there he stayed, legs crisscrossed as he watched them. "I am Peeves, resident poltergeist at Hogety Hogwarts!" He turned right side up, his head cocking to the side. "Are you looking for the other Lord's?"

Filius nodded. "We are. Would you perhaps be able to direct us to them?"

Percy had never heard of a poltergeist, but he did know the small man did make him feel unease.

"Say please, shan't say nothing if you don't," he sang shrilly, pulling a wince from all of them.

Filius let out a soft sigh. "Please?"

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filius cursing in rage.

"Well what do we do now?" Percy asked mildly.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Filius sighed.

"I know where the Lord's have gone." A figure of grey floated towards them, skirts drifting with an unfelt wind at her ankles. She stopped at the end of the staircase, hovering just above it. Percy wasn't certain why everyone at this cursed place appeared to float. He only hoped it wasn't something infectious in the air. The strange woman pointed to the door on their left.

"In there, are they?" Mundungus questioned. He sauntered over to the door, prying it open and glancing inside. When he brought his head back he nodded. "The lass isn't lying, if you are a lass that is. Not sure what you are."

"I am a ghost, a person once living who is now dead," she answered calmly. "Hogwart's has a number of them. Many people call me the Grey Lady."

"So you were the wife of a Lord in your day?" Mundungus queried.

"Not at all."

"Then why are you called the Grey Lady."

The woman shrugged. "It meant something different back then. Many things have changed. This castle, for instance. I was here in its first hundred years of life, watched thousands upon thousands of students come and go. But now it is this: a ruin. I never thought I'd see the day Hogwart's became like this. But then," she pondered, tapping her chin lightly. "I never expected a Headmaster to try and fasten himself as King, rechristening this town as King's Landing. It is what marked the beginning of the downfall of this school, and of the world itself."

"At the very least my father will be happy to know the Lannisters survived through that troubling time," Filius announced. He pointed to a dusky, worn tapestry on the wall. On the upper left corner of it was a picture of a lion, the background red and gold. On the upper right a snake with a green and silver backing. Lower left was a badger surrounded by yellow and black and on the lower right a raven with blue and bronze.

The ghost giggled, covering her face with her hand. Filius frowned, confusion evident on his face. "What is so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing at all!" she laughed, disappearing through a wall.

Percy swallowed thickly, hurrying to open the door to the left. "I hope all the Lords have assembled by now." He didn't want to be here any longer than he had to be.

"Yes," Filius agreed, watching the wall unconvinced. As if it had been a trick of the light. "Let us go."

To his relief most of the Lords appeared to be there already. Filius and Percy passed by four tables, each with one of the symbols on that crest they had passed above. The Lords were all sitting at the table in the front, candles floating above bringing light into the room.

Percy had met very few of them previously. He knew Roger Baratheon because the man enjoyed his travels. He had stopped by the majority of schools. Roger was not a Lord, he was the youngest brother of one. Percy found it odd the second oldest hadn't been sent in his stead but Marvolo Baratheon was not always predictable, and he did favor his youngest brother.

He knew of Gilderoy Tyrell, a pompous young man prone to making ill-timed and senseless jokes. Percy was not surprised to see Appoline Tyrell next to him whispering in his ear. Everyone knew Appoline pulled most the strings in the Tyrell family.

Then there was Harry Targaryen. He was born of incest from the Mad Lord of Dragonstone. The boy tried to hide it, but Percy could tell he was unnerved. Percy couldn't imagine what it felt like to sit next to the wizened man called Albus Targaryen. It would most likely be the first time they had met, and they did not appear to be hitting it off. Harry was trying to ignore him, but Albus sat calm. His hands were folded in his lap and he was watching everyone over crescent moon shaped spectacles. His I'm-A-Defenseless-Elderly-Man act did not trick Percy. Albus Targaryen had been renown in his day, famous and known as the best dueler in their ranks. Just because he was old did not mean he was defenseless. Perhaps his reflexes were less than they were but Percy was willing to bet his future seat as Lord Frey on the fact that he was still a better fighter than the majority of the witches and wizards currently in their prime.

Arthur Tully and Sirius Stark sat next to each other. They were brothers through marriage. Emmeline was the sister of Arthur and had bore the name Tully before taking on the last name Stark. Both men appeared to get along well based on the flowing conversation they were having.

Marcus Thorne was the commander of the Auror's. He had called this meeting at Albus's insistence. He was brooding, glaring at the floor unblinking. Only Victor Martell was missing. Percy was certain the Lord would not appear, not with that rumored gout that was giving him so much pain. It would most likely be his son or younger brother that came to this rendezvous.

"There will be a storm coming soon," Lord Sirius Stark announced levelly.

"How do you know that?" Percy murmured unconvinced.

Sirius Stark gave an ironic half grin and pointed up at the ceiling.

With an arched brow Percy glanced up, gasping when he did. The ceiling was the sky, but it was not. It looked exactly how a sky normally did, yet Percy could see the cracks between every stone proving it to be the ceiling. After everything Percy had seen thus far he was forced to admit King's Landing did happen to have a lot of magic despite no upkeep the past few thousand years. The ceiling was a work of magic he had never witnessed before, and probably never would again. The spell must have been lost throughout the centuries.

The doors slammed open obnoxiously, wood banging on stone harsh and unfettered. Gilderoy Tyrell gasped from his place, a slight look of fear creeping onto his face. Surely the Martells were not that imposing. The two families did not get along but that did not equate to fear.

As soon as Percy turned around he could see why the room had gone eerily silent. Fenrir Greyjoy had walked in, for all appearances as if he belonged here. Percy reached down to grip his wand, glad for the fact that both chairs nearest him were filled.

Fenrir Greyjoy sat next to Albus Targaryen, a bold move on his part. He leaned back in his chair at ease, dropping his shoe clad feet on the table. Mud splatted around them, pulling a wince out of Percy.

"Are you all surprised ta' see me?" He grinned wolfishly, meeting everyone's eyes unafraid. Appoline Tyrell appeared utterly unimpressed by his act, rolling her eyes and staring in the opposite direction resolutely, determined not to even give him the time of day. Albus hadn't so much as twitched. "I'm a Lord too, ya know. Most of ya appear to forget that bit."

On purpose, Percy finished in his head. No one wanted a blood thirsty werewolf at their home and hearth.

"You also got a letter?" Roger asked carefully, his face blank.

"How else would I know of this meeting?"

Everyone glanced at Albus, but the old man didn't appear to feel everyone's gaze on him. He appeared as congenial as always.

Arthur Tully cleared his throat. "Should we begin with small things while we're at it? We should take advantage of this meeting."

At first no one said a word, but then Appoline Tyrell skillfully nudged her grandson. He jumped, glancing at her before staring at the wooden table, hair dangling just over his eyes. "My grandmother wa…" he trailed off, re-working his words when he noticed the displeased expression on his grandmother's face. "My sister will be wed to Roger Baratheon in the next passing year. I extend invitation to all who wish to attend."

Percy noted his differing accent from his family. Gilderoy used to have one, but had shed it throughout his travels. Highgarden was known for that accent of theirs, among other things. He wondered how this would affect the people there in the long run. Most took example from their Lord. Perhaps one day that accent would no longer exist. If the old woman died it certainly wouldn't. She was an unspoken leader in their family.

"I see many of the Lords have not bothered to come, instead sending family members," Marcus Thorne grumbled, clearly displeased.

It was an astute assessment. The only Lords here were Sirius Stark, Harry Targaryen, Gilderoy Tyrell, and Fenrir Grejoy, if you counted him. Percy was almost certain it would have been impossible for Victor Martell to come with his ailing health so that was excusable.

"My father is a busy man," was Filius Lanninsters only response. Percy was sure that was true, but he also knew Abrahax Lannister didn't have the patience for this type of thing. If he didn't think it was worth his time he would not come.

"My brother's health is failing," Arthur Tully said finally. "He cannot even make it to the first floor of the castle, let alone a journey so far." He cleared his throat. "My sister, Penelope Arryn, also told me to convey her condolences of not being able to come. Penelope is newly a widow, and her only son is at the mere age of ten. I will notify Lady Penelope of any pressing matters."

Penelope Arryn had just lost her ailing husband mere months ago. They had managed to have one child, a son. From what Percy had heard of him he was a sickly thing. He never even entertained the idea that the Arryns would come, he had momentarily forgotten about their existence if he were honest. Penelope was much too protective of her young after her numerous miscarriages and stillbirths throughout the years. She would probably never leave that castle of hers.

As for Horace Tully, the announcement wasn't too surprising. Lord Horace Tully was a pudgy man who partook of too many delights offered by the world. He was easy going, but his health had never been the best. He was corpulent in his taste, and jolly in nature. A perfect fit as the ruling Lord of Riverrun's Finishing School. If Lord Horace were to pass his son Amos would become Lord. He was in his thirties and still not married. It appeared the men in that family had a penchant for marrying late. Horaces brother Arthur was in his early fifties and still not married. He did not appear to have any plans to do such a thing either.

Blaise Martell opened the doors just then, finishing the last of their circle. "I apologize for my tardiness. Ve vere met vith some…" he paused, sitting down in the last chair casually. "Resistance, but it vas nothing we could not handle."

No one questioned what this "resistance" was, but it was most likely the Common Folk. They were known to rebel every now and then.

"Very well then," Albus Targaryen began, speaking for the first time. "Let us begin, shall we? I'm sure you all have other pressing matters to tend to."

Marcus Thorne nodded beside Albus, pulling a sheet of parchment from his clothing and unfolding it. "There has been a stirring among the Common Folk as of late. Of an upcoming war beginning with the blood of nobles."

Gilderoy snorted. "When is there not war?"

"Are you basing this meeting on the rumors that Common Folk are reporting?" Percy asked incredulous. They were always gossiping about one thing or another. Much like the nobles were. To call a meeting on something so trivial as gossip was a waste of everyone's time.

Marcus glared at him. "Let's not forget that Auror's deal with them on a daily basis. Many of our Auror's are in fact from the Common ranks."

"We can't be frightened by every rumor that floats about," Arthur Tully grumbled, now in a bad mood about the time wasted coming here.

"I agree," Marcus answered coolly. "But these are not mere rumors. There's merit to them."

Appoline Tyrell snorted, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. "You can distinguish rumor from truth? I'd like to 'ear how you do zat," she countered disdainfully, sarcasm dripping from each syllable. "Gossip is what women do when zere's nothing else to keep zem preoccupied. Your placing value in wives' tales. Now, if Severus Baelish told me zis I would be more willing to agree. But as you can see…" she trailed off, gesturing to the empty handed Harry Targaryen who did not appear to have anyone with him.

Severus Baelish was a whisperer, with spies planted all across the land. He knew much of the goings on in the schools, sometimes before word even got out of it. He would be very useful to any schools repertoire. Too bad he refused any offer given to him, deciding on staying with the two ailing Targaryen brats.

Harry gave a slight blush, clearing his throat. "Severus told me no such thing when I left."

"Well zere you 'ave it. I believe this meeting is adjourned. A waste of time if you ask me," Appoline nattered, standing up to leave with her grandson following closely behind.

"Now wait just a minute!" Marcus said irritated. "These aren't just rumors, and even if they are you should listen to them, as they would affect every one of us. It's not just about war, but an end to our way of life."

Appoline turned around, not completely convinced. "What does zat mean?"

Marcus gestured for her to sit down. She did so grudgingly, a frown on her lips.

"I have heard many troubling rumors," he began again, searching each of their eyes. "As you know the Auror's have always worked more closely with the Common Folk. About half of our soldiers come from them. They can be good if given the proper training."

Appoline snorted but did not deny his claims.

"In the passing months I have received more men from the Common Folk to train. They tell me of a man, a Lord, that wishes to fasten himself as King."

Percy felt his brows raise in shock. All of them knew what happened the last time a King ruled these lands. That world had died, and the survivors had to create a new one out of the flames. A new King could mean the same thing, and no one wanted another King. They were all happy as they were, ruling their own schools and regions with little interference from others.

"It is a Lord, you say?" Victor clarified, his accent echoing in the hall.

Marcus nodded grimly.

That meant there was a traitor in their mist. One of these school's greedily wished for more than they had.

If these rumors were true.

"We must ban together. If these rumors are correct we must address them. It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends," Albus supplied.

"What are you suggesting Albus? Alliances?" Roger Baratheon asked carefully.

Albus nodded stoically. "We can only know our enemies by making them our friends, and by making them our friends we no longer have enemies," he departed wisely.

"Don't look at me," Arthur Tully grumbled irritably, noticing everyone's stare. "My brother is Lord and he has a son. There is no need for me to marry some noble girl."

"But you do 'ave a nephew," Appoline reasoned, a coy look in her eyes. It was those devious eyes that always got everyone in trouble.

Arthur appeared taken aback. "I do not have any authority over him. He has a father, and Amos is a man grown. He needs no one to dictate his life. He knows what he needs to do."

"What of you Lord Stark? You have four children unspoken for," Percy voiced, scheming in his mind a way to get one of his sisters or nieces as Lady of The School of Winterfell. Making direct ties to the Starks would always be ideal.

Sirius Stark cleared his throat. "It is true I have a daughter and son nearing marrying age. Emmeline and I have discussed it some, but have not come to a clear conclusion." He appeared thoughtful, lost in his mind in whatever he was deciding to do. "Perhaps a betrothal with one of the other great families would be ideal when departing from here."

It was smart of Lord Stark. He wasn't offering to foster one of his children. That meant virtually losing ties and going to live with that family. With a betrothal he could keep his child up to their nineteenth birthday at his castle.

"And then we have Lord Targaryen," Fenrir Greyjoy mused. "And his pretty little sister Luna."

"No," Harry Targaryen answered resolutely, glaring into the werewolves' eyes. "The only way you will get my sister is pried from my dead, worm infested hands," Harry hissed vehemently.

"Your father was known for incest," Roger Baratheon mused. "Perhaps that is true for you too."

Harry paled, shaking his head in apparent unease. "I am not my father. I do not feel that way for my sister." He hesitated. "She is an innocent, unknowing of the world and how it works. She does not even know of our father, what he had done," Harry trailed off, not meeting any of their eyes.

"The best way to disprove that rumor is for you or your sister to marry. Preferably both," Percy suggested.

Harry sat quite for a few minutes, mulling over all of their words.

"What do you think of a betrothal between my oldest daughter and you," Lord Stark suggested suddenly.

Harry's eyes bulged in shock. Most of the people at the table were surprised by the sudden suggestion. There was not much winning a betrothal with Harry Targaryen. His castle was decrepit, his family known for incest and madness thanks to his father. Sirius Stark could virtually offer any of his daughters to one of the ruling Lords and make them a Lady. Even his youngest son would be worth more than Harry Targaryen.

"I would be open to the deal," Harry answered quietly.

"What of your sister?" Filius intoned, appearing a bit reluctant.

Harry's lips pursed in a tight line. He said finally, "Once she is old enough."

"My father has an interest in sealing an alliance with you."

"Your father wants to marry my younger sister?" Harry was doing a poor job of hiding the evident disgust on his face. Abrahax Lannister was in his early sixties, after all.

"Not my father," Filius answered evenly.

It took a moment for Harry to connect what the Imp was saying, but when he did it was obvious to the whole room. "You?" he asked incredulous.

"I'm afraid so," he said gravely.

Harry puzzled over this information, and while Harry puzzled Percy tried to figure out what there was to gain in wishing to have the young Targaryen as the next Lady of Casterly Rock.

Then it was obvious. Abrahax Lannister liked to collect gifts. A few years back he had bought two female house elves for an obscene amount from the Targaryens just to boast he had them. The Starks had the gift of familiars. All of them had an animal bound to them. No one was sure how it worked or why they were able to do it. Abrahax had nothing over the Starks so he had moved on. Percy's family had the occasional child born with visions, but it always led to madness. Taking that into account the gift was not worth as much. The Tarths had Metamorphmagus abilities, but Abrahax had certainly seen how much of a difficulty they were as children. The gift was uncontrollable at that time, and Abrahax could have nothing less of perfection even at that young age.

So the Targaryens were perfect.

With their gift of elements they were the perfect treasure to pull into the fold. Fire did not burn them, and the cold did not freeze them. They were beautiful to look at, and one of the things the Abrahax enjoyed viewing was beauty. If the future Lannisters were able to get any of that gift it would only benefit him.

Percy wasn't sure why he didn't try to get a Veela. The Lannisters and the Tyrells did have a bit of a rivalry, but he didn't think that would impede on relations. It had to be because the Targaryens were dying out. There were only two of them left in the world and there might not be a chance in the next generation. Abrahax Lannister would probably not even be alive for that.

Or maybe it was because the Tyrells had refused them. No one wanted to be married to a grotesque looking small man.

Harry appeared to know that he was trapped. There was no way to avoid this alliance without slighting the Lannisters, and Harry Targaryen could not afford that. The Lannisters held the second best school in the world, only beat by the Baratheons. The Baratheons were leaning on their well-known name. They had led the last two wars and were riding on that fame. If nothing else was done the Lannisters were sure to surpass them. Not that Marvolo Baratheon appeared to care with all the drinking and whoring he did.

"I'll agree to a betrothal, and I'll agree to deliver her just before her nineteenth." He stared into Filius Lannisters eyes, challenging him. "I don't know what happened between your family and the Martells, but be assured if you hurt my sister I'll come there myself with fire and blood."

He could tell Harry meant it too. Harry Targaryen had never appeared menacing in any way before that moment, but when he vowed this Percy swore he was looking into the face of James Targaryen. A shiver passed through Percy, and it was then that he truly understood what the Targaryens school's mantra of "Fire and Blood" meant.

Percy had almost forgotten the grandeur that had once been the Targaryen family.

Filius was taken aback, but nodded. "I can promise you I had nothing to do with that occurrence. I will protect my wife, no matter who I am against."

It was then Harry relaxed, his features transfixing back to the face of a person who was twenty-one, skittish and realizing his miserable place in life. "I am glad," Harry answered with a nod.

That made ties between the Starks, Lannisters, and Targaryens. Gilderoy Tyrell had just announced his sisters pending wedding to Roger Baratheon, binding them.

"The Freys are known for not being very comely, but I promise you we have a few beauties hidden in our mist," Percy announced. "We have Fair Romilda, and Alecto. They are both beauties in their own rights."

His father had been saving those two for something special. Perhaps this day was today.

"How old are they?" Arthur asked carefully.

"I believe they are fifteen and seventeen, respectively," Percy divulged.

"Hmm," Arthur mused. "I will bring this to the attention of my nephew. All he cares about is getting a beautiful wife. If he gets that he will be happy."

Percy leaned back in his chair pleased. No doubt his father would be happy with either his granddaughter or daughter as the Lady of Riverrun. Percy was to be Lord once his father passed. Despite his father's crudeness he had learned much under his tutelage.

"I cannot speak for my brother, and I cannot imagine what my brother wishes for his children," Roger spoke. "Merope is already fostered and betrothed to the Martells, as for Marvolo's two sons…." Roger shrugged. "My brother can plan that out when he wishes."

Gilderoy was once more on the receiving end of Appoline Tyrells elbow to the ribs. He winced, calling out, "I have numerous Veela cousins, all at or nearing marrying age. Gabrielle is almost nineteen, Dominique is seventeen and Victoire nearing fifteen. I also have a young nephew, but he is only three."

"I will think about my oldest son for those possible matches," Sirius mused.

Roger shrugged. "I can notify my brother of this to see if he's interested in Draco becoming betrothed."

Appoline seemed appleased with these allowances, setting back into her chair. But not without adding. "That still leaves Gilderoy."

Gilderoy strickened, his mouth hanging open unattractively. "But Grandmère," he protested.

"None of that 'orrid whining you like to do. Pick a wife. Zere's a pretty Frey still to choose from, and a Stark if I'm not mistaken."

Appoline's eyes challenged Sirius's. His jaw tightened as his eyes drifted away. "Ginny will not be leaving the North."

The Queen of Thornes was unimpressed. "Is Ginny too good for my boy?"

Sirius Stark sat up straight. "That's not it at all. Ginny has the North running through her veins. She was made for it. I won't take that away from her."

"Favoritism at its finest," the woman declared. "So your oldest daughter can leave ze North but ze youngest can't?"

Sirius Stark stared levelly into her eyes. "If you knew my daughters you'd know why one and not the other. That is final. I will not be bringing Ginny out of the North."

Percy had to be impressed by how well Sirius Stark stood up to Appoline Tyrell. Not many could say the same.

Appoline Tyrell appeared to move on, leaning back in her chair with a shrug. "I suppose you'll be getting zat pretty Frey zen. Just look at her, won't you Gilderoy?"

Her grandson nodded carefully. "Of course grandmother." It appeared now that Gilderoy wasn't so taken aback as he had lost the accent once more.

Percy couldn't be more pleased. Potentially two of his sisters would be married to Lords. The Gods favored the Frey family this day.

"What about fostering?" Percy asked, pressing his luck. "I have a younger brother who is interested in such a thing." Not his brother particularly, but his father. Amycus Frey had too many children to count and he needed to get rid of them all somehow. Cormac was young anyways, and cheerful. He would adapt quickly.

Sirius raised his hand. "I would be willing to take on fostering him. I have a young son that is eight years in age and appears to need more company to keep him busy."

Percy grinned. "Cormac is ten, and a playful child himself."

"Very well then," Sirius Stark agreed. Percy beamed. Nothing could bring him down this day.

"I believe that is enough connections," Blaise declared playfully. "All of us are connected one way or another." Throughout the meeting the Lannister and Tyrells had cautiously avoided the noctorius Martell. Their families hadn't gotten along in many years, for good reasons too.

All of the Lords and men stood and shook on their alliances and betrothals, and it was so.

Marcus Thorne cleared his throat. "There is also something else that has come to my attention. We might as well all discuss it as we're gathered." He took a dramatic pause. "The Squibs are gathering. They call their leader a Lord and rumor says they're making their own school. The Squibs now have different weapons to fight us against. They have this thing called a bow... we can put up shields against it but they're cunning. They're starting to use it as a distraction tactic and attack us from behind with swords. They're learning. Quickly. Never before have they been able to take down the stone statues that line The Wall, but they can now. We've been attempting to go the diplomatic route, but..."

"What are you asking for?" Appoline Tyrell inquired with her known prickliness.

"Men," Marcus responded. "Strong warlocks that can create new spells to keep them at bay. We need to get just as creative as them."

Percy shrugged. "I can ask if any of my brothers are interested in such a thing." He was almost certain they weren't considering they would just become slaves to justice.

Marcus opened his arms in earnest. "That is all I ask."


	5. The Cravens and The Un-Named

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Neville and Peter.

Chapter 5: The Cravens and The Un-Named

* * *

 

Castle Black, The Gift

* * *

 

Neville wished he had been told how bloody cold it would be at The Wall before agreeing to be an Auror.

Not that he had much of a choice. Between his grandmother and father demanding and telling him it would be for the best he didn't stand a chance. If only Neville had been braver, stronger; he would have been the head of his family when his father passed.

It was this precise reason he was told to leave. It didn't take much to bully him into compliance. A head of house couldn't be like that. He had to be able to stand his ground. Neville could barely piss in a straight line, let alone take care of a family.

At least this hellish training was almost over. Maybe he would be transferred to the Tyrell castle. He could even deal with being sent to the Freys. At least the weather was nice there the majority of the time.

The only horrible part about that was he would be separated from his friends. Bill Snow had stuck up for Neville since Bill had shown up himself, back when everyone thought Neville was a bloody idiot for joining.

Well, they still thought that. But there was an improvement: they didn't say it aloud anymore.

Then there was Fred Grenn and George Pypar. If someone didn't know better they'd call the two twins. As it was they were of the Common breed, someone his father had always announced that as nobles they were above. But Fred and George were better at fighting than he was so he did not hold much merit to his father's words.

Neville wasn't certain where he would go once training was over. He had hopes, but dreams rarely interacted with reality. The only prospect he had at getting any say of where he was sent was through Albus Targaryen. About two decades ago Albus had been the Commander, but he had handed it over to someone else who had greeted an early death four years into his leadership. Commanders didn't live very long lives. Being an Auror was dangerous. As Commander you have to lead and be in the thick of things. Albus had claimed that role had tired him and he was ready to be on the sidelines once more.

Since then he had done much of the training for the new recruits. He placed Neville under his wing for some strange reason. Neville couldn't figure out why. He wasn't very good at much of anything.

Regulus Stark was another one of the trainers. He taught survival and basic skills, while Albus taught battle magic and defense.

But now Neville's training had finally come to an end.

All of the recruits were lined up on the right side waiting for the announcement that they had passed training so that they could switch over to the left, a graduate. It was the last chance anyone had to back out of being an Auror. Once the sacred oath was given a brother was bound for life. Some of the wizards appeared nervous, but a few were eerily calm. Bill Snow, Fred Grenn, and George Pypar among them.

Marcus Thorne presided over the ceremony, with Regulus and Albus standing on each side of him. There were three working castles that manned the wall and kept the Squibs at bay, and they were ran by the second and third-in-command respectively. On the farthest right, where graduates passed to get their wand notched, was Gideon Halfhand. When he first came here, decades ago, he was Gideon Tully. But most people forgot that part and Gideon never mentioned it. He had only two fingers on his right hand which rumor said he lost as a trainee to an axe by a Squib. Gideon Halfhand was second-in-command and ran Shadow Tower. Fabian Rivers was third respectively and the leader of East Watch. He was a coarse man, with a nose broken at least four times over. Bill Snow had once told him Gideon Halfhand and Fabian Rivers were half-brothers, but Neville wasn't very certain. Perhaps if he strained hard enough and squinted one eye he could see the resemblance, but even that was generous.

Neville wasn't sure how he had hung in there with such difficult training. Maybe it was because he couldn't bring himself to fail at everything in life. Neville was nowhere near the best in his class, but at least he could claim he passed to become an Auror. They would call his name and notch his wand with the symbol of the Aurors, a crow. Then Neville would walk down the stage and to the other side victorious.

Normally by this time the men that knew they didn't have what it takes to be an Auror were obvious. It was a rare occasion when a trainee didn't graduate, but if you graduated that did not always mean becoming an Auror. If the trainers felt like a student needed more time they would advise them to train for another year. Training usually took three years, but Neville had done it for four. Albus had recommended last year to stay for a little longer.

Aurors were self-sufficient at Castle Black, their base and home alongside The Wall. They grew their own food, slayed their own lifestock, and repaired their own buildings. Every now and then the position of Healer was open. A Healer was required at each castle lining the Wall. So if one couldn't stand the shame of failing or were happy to stay they could always do one of those choices.

But Neville wanted more than that. He didn't just want to be an extra stable hand, or be shoved into the gardens to grow food. He wanted to fight. For once in his bloody life he wanted to be proud of himself and prove everyone wrong.

"Fred Grenn!" Marcus Thorne called out. "Auror. Row one."

Fred grinned, standing up immediately and walking up to the makeshift stage. He shook hands with Commander Thorne, and a spell was uttered to embed the symbol of their union. Fred had an extra skip in his step as he coasted down to the other side, happily sitting down in the first row.

No one ever knew what each row meant until the Commander announced it at the end. There were different amounts of chairs in each one. Usually after a trainee gained the title of Auror they were transferred to either one of the schools, sent to the emergency unit, or remained at The Wall in one of the three castles.

The emergency unit was one of the most dangerous teams. They were sent wherever things were the worst at. Right now they were stationed in one of the Common Folk towns, Rosby. There was a rebellion going on and it was their job to end it. Neville hoped he wasn't placed on that team. He wanted to be an Auror, but he didn't want to die in a year either.

"Hengist Halder! Builder! Row two!"

Hengist didn't appear particularly perturbed by this announcement. He appeared as always, a slight frown on his broad face. Hengist was their biggest trainee hands down. There was no competition for him when it came to brawn.

Now brain, that was another story.

Neville keyed in just in time to catch, "George Pypar! Auror! Row two!"

George would at least be servicing one of the castles on The Wall. Builders were not assigned to schools or anything else. They were strictly for the Aurors. At least Fred and George would see each other every now and then. When times were calm the Emergency unit came back to The Wall.

"Myron Satin! Auror! Row three!"

Neville remembered Satin very well. He had gotten off to a rough start here, like many of them. The first time the Squibs attacked The Wall he had pissed himself when the horn went off. He was lucky the Squibs hadn't managed to make it passed the stone statues that time, because more than likely he wouldn't have made it.

Battling the Squibs was how the trainees got their experience. Sure they had mock duels among each other, but that was different than something real. Their opponent was actually trying to kill them unlike the other initiates. There was no way to guess when the Squibs would attack. Sometimes they would try their luck a few times a week, other times there was no sign of them for months.

"Quirinus Slynt! Lifestock! Row two!"

Quirinus Slynt was a strange man. He had a stutter, which he blamed on falling off his broom as a child. He had his moments of brilliance, but they were so far and few it appeared the Commander wasn't willing to chance making him an Auror.

"Bill Snow! Auror! Row two!"

Neville had always known Bill would make it. There was never one moment of doubt. He was one of the best in their class, and many of them went to him for pointers and advice. He did have an advantage, the training he had received under his father's care. But he had too much of a gift to just leave it at that.

Neville almost missed his name being called, too stuck in his own thoughts. He blushed a horrifying shade of red, nearly stumbling as he walked up the stairs to have his wand emblazoned. He glanced at the Commander, realizing he hadn't even caught what was to be his row and job description.

"I'm an Auror, right?" Neville whispered, watching the smoke drift in the air as his wand was scalded with heat.

"No, you're an Unknown."

Neville's eyes widened. "An Unknown?"

"Yes."

He handed the wand back to Neville. He could still feel the slight heat the wand gave off from the trauma of the burn.

"Like, a good Unknown?"

Marcus Thorns face closed. "We'll discuss this later Tarley. Sit down in row two already."

He called out another name, clearly dismissing Neville.

Neville hurried down the steps, sitting down next Hengist and Bill. Bill gave him a small smile, worry in his eyes.

There were many classes an Auror could belong in. There were the Builders, what Hengist was to be. They mended The Wall and made sure everything was sound. Then there were the Farmers, who kept them all fed. The Slayers, who took care of and killed the lifestock that kept them alive and without hunger. There were the Cooks and the Healers, who were few in number. Then the Aurors, of course.

An Unknown, though. Those were rarest of all. As far as Neville knew there were no Unknown's currently within the Aurors ranks. They were used to do strange things, an experiment of sorts usually. In books the class Unknown was not even mentioned because of its rarity. They said long ago there were a lot of Unknowns, back when the Aurors were first based here seven thousand years ago. They were warriors, like the Aurors, but there was something that made them different from the rest.

Neville wasn't sure what it could possibly be. He was average at everything. He was sure his father would guffaw once he heard. His son couldn't even manage to be made into a category. One had to be made for him.

The last of the trainees stepped onto the other side of the stage, sitting down in row four. Approximately a fourth of the graduates were in his row.

All of them stood up as one, ready to repeat the sacred words that made them part of the Aurors.

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall not sequester nor run any schools, and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the wand in the darkness. I am the watcher on The Wall. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Aurors, for this night and all the nights to come."

They quieted, feeling the words resonate within them, and then sitting down once Marcus Thorne signaled them to. Albus Targaryen stepped forward, his eyes twinkling.

"Congratulations to all. Each and every one of you," Albus Targaryen announced. For the four years that Neville had been here he had seen each graduation. Albus always wrapped up the ceremony, announcing what each row meant and where they would be. "I'm certain you're all anxious to learn where you will begin your new lives, so without further ado." He cleared his throat, nodding to them.

"Row one, you all will replace the lives recently lost on the Emergency Unit." There were only two in that row, Fred included. Neville saw his adams apple bob as he swallowed thickly in a fit of nerves.

"Row two, you will remain in Castle Black." It shouldn't have been a surprise, but somehow it was. They were keeping so many of them here, which was unheard of. Most students were stationed at wizarding schools when they graduated, but it appeared this year would be different.

"Row three, you are being sent to The Twins." Satin grimaced, but took this fairly well. Most did not want to be dispatched to the Freys.

"Last but not least, row four. Your new home is with the Lannisters." There was only one person in that row, who Neville did not know very well.

Marcus Thorne nodded to them, walking off the stage without preamble and going back to work. A low, awkward clap was given to them by the current trainees watching and then it was over. Neville tottered back over to the stage, clutching at the bottom of his shirt nervously.

"What is an Unknown?"

Albus rubbed at his beard in thought. "Something new altogether. Something we could have a need for if you're able to do it."

Neville swallowed nervously. "And what is that?"

"You're amazing at Herbology, Neville. The best student I've ever had." Not that it was a useful talent. The only thing Herbologist were good for was yard work and gardening. Neville couldn't see the Aurors using him for something so useless. The last thing an Auror was worried about was how great their garden looked. "We had hoped to put that skill to use."

Neville blinked owlishly, unsure of what the Targaryen even meant. "How could I possibly do that?" he stuttered out.

"That is where your creativity comes in." Marcus Thorne walked over to them, a scowl on his thick, prominent brows. "You're good at Herbology, great even; but you're a mediocre Auror. You might survive. Maybe." He shrugged carelessly, as if he did not mind one way or the other. "That all depends on you."

"But-but," Neville stammered. He thought he had been doing pretty good.

"Shut that incessant babble, boy. Feel lucky that Albus Targaryen thinks there's hope for you. I wanted to shove you in with the Farmers and be done with it."

Neville's jaw dropped. He had worked so hard, tried the best he could to do what was told of him. It still had not been enough, not to get a regular Auror classification.

Albus smiled benevolently, a twinkle in his eyes. "I believe if given the chance Neville will flourish."

"What you'll be doing is a mix of Herbology and Auror tactics," Marcus began with an irritated scowl, ignoring his colleagues comment. "Albus suggested it, and I thought if it could actually work we could become unstoppable. It's what we need to survive. We have to outsmart our opponents, just as they are beginning to outsmart us."

"What we want you to do," Albus continued where Marcus left off. "Is finding out how plants can aid us in this war. Find new remedies for healing, new potions to make us stronger. We need plants to work for us, not just be a backdrop. Do you think you can do that, my boy?"

What he was asking had been attempted before, but not from this angle. Not only from the plant respective. But plants were what Neville knew best. If he had a chance at anything it was being able to conquer plants.

"I think so."

"Good, just what I wanted to hear," Marcus nodded.

Neville stared at Albus cluelessly. "What happens if I can't?" he asked in a moment of self doubt.

Marcus scowled. "You just said you could."

"But what if I can't?" Neville strained, his foot bouncing nervously.

"If you don't manage to make this work you will become an Auror by default, until then you shall do this," he answered tightly.

"And what is This called?" Neville mumbled.

Marcus Thorne grinned nastily.

"Tell me when you figure it out."

* * *

 

Unknown Location

* * *

 

Peter Varys dug his greedy little fingers through the handful of scrolls resting on his desk. He was happy to say it was all good news for his Lord.

The spies at Casterly Rock had been sucessfully placed, and with time he was certain he could win over the Tyrell family. Particularly those two scheming women, Fleur and Appoline. No matter, if he got Appoline on board he would win the whole house. His concentration should remain on her, as she was the grand prize.

Other spies were in motion too, slowly making their way to all the schools. Undetected as of so far. No one paid attention to the Common Folk.

"What fairs the news?" Bellatrix asked from behind him. Peter twitched, turning around and taking her in. Bellatrix came from the far away city of Assai. With wild brown curls that burned red in the sun and russet eyes she was exotic. The Dark Lord found her useful, as she was able to read future events in the embers of ashes. A barely contained smirk flickered on her face and she stared unblinking, waiting for his response.

"The plans are unfolding wonderfully," he announced, handing the letters over to her and stepping back. He always felt off balance when too close to her, as if he were a moment from death.

Bellatrix of Assai grinned, and the look was frightening. The madness, the undisclosed rage simmering beneath her eyes. Her teeth glinted, reflecting the flames in the fire place. She stepped forward, standing next to him to stare down at them.

"My Lord of Light said it would be so. You still do not believe me."

Peter did not argue. There was no point lying, she always saw through it.


	6. The Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tells Luna what happened at the Meeting of Lords and we meet the Boltons.

Chapter 6: The Announcement

* * *

 

Dragonstone, New Valeria

* * *

 

It was a downtrodden Lord that returned to Dragonstone, unable to meet his sister's questioning gaze. He was a coward; he would admit it. He could not bring himself to be truthful with her, to tell her that he had sold her to monsters.

Abrahax Lannister had no true humanity. Everything he did, he did in the name of his house. He had no morality, no conscience. He would use her for whatever gains that he could, and Filius Lannister was not much better. He was a drunken heathen, more interested in whoring than anything else. Luna would be broken hearted. Was his family name and house really worth that?

Not without Luna, he realized.

"Harry?"

The voice pulled a wince out of him. It appeared his avoidance tactics had come to an end.

"Yes, Luna?"

She was frowning, her arms crossed and foot tapping nervously on the floor. "Ever since that meeting with the Lord's you've been avoiding me."

Harry ran a hand tiredly through his ragged hair. He was in need of a haircut, he noted to himself. It was growing a bit too long for his liking. With a grimace he gestured for her to follow him, sitting down on the nearby stairs leading to the third level of the castle.

"How have the Common Folk been?" Luna was with them more than anyone. Pavarti and Padma were only one of many examples, although a bit of an exception. Their family had always been loyal to the Targaryen's, for almost a century now. Ever since they escaped across The Narrow Sea as slaves and landed on Dragonstone as free men.

"They're doing well, if a bit hungry," Luna shrugged. It was not able to be helped. They did not have the resources needed to keep so many people. Fishing boats went out to scour the sea for food every other day, but it was still not enough. The House Elves were creative with the sea weed that drifted to land, making decently tasting soup, snacks, and adding it for more sustenance to other dishes. Harry was almost certain sea weed was in everything he ate. At least he didn't always taste it.

Harry took a tired breath in, a grimace on his face. "The meeting with the Lords went… decently. They still have not taken away Dragonstone."

Luna brushed him off, throwing a hand up flippantly. "They never will. They may take away our name but they would never take Dragonstone. Only we are crazy enough to live off of it."

Harry blinked, staring at her in surprise. Worded that way it made so much sense. The nobles would most likely never force them off this island. It was a dangerous one, and if they did not have a captain that knew how to navigate around the tides and other dangers more chances than not they would sink at sea. The floo system had been locked years ago after some prodding from Severus. Perhaps they could lead an armada on brooms but it did not seem very likely. For the first time since he could remember he was grateful for Dragonstone's rough terrain. They would survive, if nothing else.

"What did they say, Harry? You're hiding something," Luna pressed, hands bunching in her cotton spun, ivory skirts in anxiety. Mud was caked on the bottom of it, with a few stains on the bodice. It did not have any holes in it though, and Luna could always dye it a darker color when the ivory began to stain too badly.

Harry took a deep breath in. "I'm now betrothed to a Stark. I think her name is Katie, that's what Arthur Tully said. She's the oldest daughter of Sirius Stark."

"Stark?" Luna repeated incredulously. "You're betrothed to a Stark? As in the, 'WINTER IS COMING!, Stark breed?'"

"Aye," he answered miserably. The girl was sure to hate him for Dragonstone's lack of luxuries, and if not that then because Harry was born from incest. Or even because Harry's father had burned her grandfather, or because of his older brother James had stolen Lily Stark and led her to an untimely death. There were many reasons for Katie Stark to hate him, and Harry couldn't bring himself to blame her for it. "And the Lannister's gave me a preposition." He stared into her eyes, looking deep into their silvery grey depths with flecks of emerald. He was reminded of his mother's eyes every time he looked into them. "They asked for your hand in marriage." Harry squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look her in the face.

All was silent. Not footsteps could be heard, nor the whisper of a breeze. No shouts from the courtyard or conversations drifting up from below. All Harry could hear was the pounding in his chest, suddenly too garishly loud for his ears.

Luna breathed out, disturbing the silence. "Why do you always listen to people? You don't have to, you know."

"But I do," he said miserably. "I'm trying to protect you." But that did not sound right, not after what he had just concluded about the Lannisters. "We're a poor house, from an even worse legacy. We do not have any choices."

"That is true only because you believe it."

He looked up, taken aback. What did that even mean? Of course he believed that. The Targaryens held no power. They no longer had one supporter from the great families. He wanted to improve, to do better and gain back their splendor; but when you laid down every night with a grumbling stomach and your thoughts drifting to the worst it was hard.

"People are beginning to call you Khal. It means king, or warlord." She laughed dryly, a smidge of warmth embedded in it. "Harry, don't you see? People love you. They care about you, and many would do anything that you asked. Anything. You don't need those silly, old nobles to support you. You have the people."

"They won't earn me anything," Harry argued, a bit taken aback with this new title he did not even know he owned. "We don't have protection or immunity with them. They won't be the ones that allow us to keep our name. We protect them, and I can't even do that." Shame filled him at the admittance. His cheeks flushed and he stared at the ground, his hair covering his face.

A hand laid itself flat on his back. "Why is that the rule?"

His head darted up, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Luna said, beginning to pace in front of him. "That you're playing by their rules when you don't have to. We are Fire and Blood, Harry," she said with heavy conviction, uttering their school words. "We take what we want, and covet what we have. This place is ours, and we're all that's left of our legacy. Maybe we could play that game before, but no more."

"But our magick is gone," Harry groused. "Our dragons, our splendor, our army…." His voice faded off, distracted by a sudden thought. A bold one, innovative.

Perhaps they did have an army.

The Common Folk, they were witches and wizards too! They just never got the training the nobles did. They stuck to specializations: herbology, healing, charms. They usually only learned one skill, which was learned from their parents before them.

But if Harry trained them.

Harry stood abruptly, rubbing his chin in deep thought and ignoring Luna. Kreacher could teach history. He was biased but at least he got the gist of it. Besides, Kreacher was biased towards the Targaryens and that made all the difference. Severus could teach potions, he was a prodigy at it. Their other House Elf Hokey had a weird fascination with poisons, and it would not hurt to teach a few people the finer arts of it. Harry himself could teach Dark Arts and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Not many could beat him in a one on one duel. Luna was quite decent at Charms, if she could keep her attention long enough to teaching a class.

He could always add classes later, when more people came. Maybe Severus would know some people willing to teach the Common Folk.

With this in mind, he went to his study to begin penning letters.

* * *

 

Dreadfort, The North

* * *

 

Ignotus Bolton eyed the letter in his hands carefully, glancing over it at his son Antioch Snow who appeared abnormally excited. Ignotus closed his eyes tiredly, organizing his thoughts before reading it once more and placing it down on his desk. Antioch was antsy at this point, unable to hold still for the barest of moments.

"What do you think father?" Antioch asked levelly. An attempt to hide the excitement he had already showcased, no doubt. Antioch's pale blue eyes stared into his own, slightly lighter ones. The curls on Antioch's head came from the whore Ignotus laid with all those years ago and died birthing him, but the rest was all Ignotus. There could be no doubt Antioch was Ignotus Bolton's son.

Ignotus grimaced, breathing in deeply and squeezing the bridge of his nose. "I think I need to review this carefully."

Thinly veiled impatience glimmered on Antioch's face, before quickly changing it to that of false pleasantness. "This is an amazing opportunity father, too good to be true."

"At the cost of what?" Ignotus's tone was biting, condescension clear in his voice. He gestured angrily out the window. "At the cost of our castle? The Bolton name? Neither which you hold, I might add," he said evenly.

Rage bubbled in Antioch's face. He clenched his jaw, responding, "We may never get this chance again. How many times have the Boltons rose against the Starks only to be squashed?"

"Who said anything about us winning?" Starting a war did not equate to winning it. Antioch had much more to learn if he thought that was how it worked.

"But our chances will never be better than this!"

Ignotus stood suddenly, his chair shooting back behind him into the wall and clanging loudly. Antioch winced, watching him warily. "Don't tell me about war, boy! I know all about those. My father was the last Bolton to revolt and he paid for it with his life. Before that my great grandfather, who also paid for it with his. How many more times will the Starks allow us to keep our name before replacing us? I've only just got back in his good graces by serving him well in the last war against the Greyjoys." He adjusted his collar, heading towards the door. "Besides, I no longer have an heir, do I?" He didn't turn around to see the expression on his bastards face. It was always one of two things when the subject was breached: childlike pain or sweltering rage.

His only son and heir Cadmus had died five years back, attacked by a group of prisoners that had somehow escaped the impregnable Azkaban. At least, that was what the report said. Ignotus was not so sure.

He was almost certain Antioch killed him in a violent fit of anger. He had always lusted after Cadmus's title of heir and his noble last name. It did not help that Cadmus was arrogant and given the chance would make biting remarks at Antioch. Nothing obvious, more like Antioch's station in life. But that was Antioch's greatest hurt so it was not too difficult for hate to fester. That, adding to Antioch's proclivities it was not too much of a stretch.

Ignotus strode into the courtyard with Antioch trailing him, momentarily pausing at the unfamiliar carriage and rider inside his castle walls. A foreign soldier strode up to him, one with the Frey sigil of two stone towers with a bridge between them on the breast. Even the Frey's sigil was an advertisement. It was sickening. But he supposed it was no worse than his own sigil, that of a flayed man.

"Honorable Bolton." The man bowed deeply, addressing him with his title as a lesser lord. The carriage opened and a fat woman in a pink dress with one too many ruffles stepped out, a beaming smile on her face as she walked over to them. Her face was toad-like, but her eyes gave her away. She was more cunning than her appearance showcased her as. Ignotus arched a single brow, grabbing the letter with no amount of impatience and opening it.

The Dark Lord rewards his followers greatly. Please enjoy Fat Dolorus. She is worth her weight in galleons.

The girl stopped in front of him, giving him a curtsy and fixing the tiara in her hair that had slid onto her forehead with the motion. Ignotus remained unmoved, appraising the situation before him. Two soldiers brought over large, nondescript bags, their faces strained with the weight of it. He could practically feel his bastards smirk on the back of his neck.

"Honorable Bolton, it is wonderful to finally meet my future husband." She blushed, what she surely thought was prettily but overall a bit nauseating. His mind finally caught onto her words, taken aback.

"I never made any arrangements with Lord Frey." Usually getting a Lord's daughter would be an honor to a lesser family, but when she came attached with the name Frey…

Not so much.

"No, but the Dark Lord made it for us both. My bride's price is my weight in galleons."

Ignotus eyed her shrewdly, bending down to open one bag and staring stunned at its contents. He swallowed thickly, making sure to keep his tone even. "These are all galleons?"

"Yes, Honorable Bolton."

Ignotus frowned, his fingers skimming the tops of the bag. He had never seen so much money at once. He became contemplative, his thoughts twisting with uncertainty. Decision made, he tightened the bag closed at once and motioned for one of his soldiers to take it inside. Ignotus eyed Dolorus Frey with new interest, a half smirk forming on his face as he took her hand and with a bow kissed it.

"Welcome to the Dreadfort, Miss Dolorus. It is my greatest wish that you enjoy your new home."


End file.
